


Fate/Black Moon

by thenew



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, SCP Foundation
Genre: Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:14:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26716576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenew/pseuds/thenew
Summary: The Grail is a complex creation. It holds many secrets. Its power is great. The Foundation holds the Grail. It hosts the War. A wish is promised. There is hope for a better future. There is hope for your wishes to be granted. All rush to this magnificent creation. A work of Magic. But know of this.Be careful what you set your heart upon - for it will surely be yours.
Relationships: Emiya Kiritsugu/Irisviel von Einzbern
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**O5-8**  
  
Overseers were busy people.

  
  
Third in command of foundational operations, they were _the_ authority within the Foundation, working side-by-side with the Ethics Committee, as the Administrator rarely intervened. Handling in overwatch of a department and day to day foundation activities, the Overseer Council was the inner circle that decided what was to happen next within the Foundation.

  
  
Every Overseer held a very special job, and dozens of not so special ones.

  
  
As an example, Thirteenth Overseers were typically responsible for the role of keeping an eye on the other Overseers- in order to guarantee that they wouldn't betray the Foundation for the sake of their own agendas. They, therefore, rarely meddled in other affairs not connected directly to the Council, such as diplomatic relations with other factions of the world.

  
  
Right now, Overseer Eight was calmly walking towards the main building of the largest Foundation base of operations in the West Coast of the United States. Site-231, whistling a merry tune.

  
  
In his left hand, a dozen copper rings, embedded with plastic gems, shone. They didn't have any real function. Eight just found them pretty. He continued his walk down the street, now singing loudly. No one really paid attention to him, and he was very happy for that.

  
  
It would make his day easier.

  
  
He kept walking. No one paid attention on him. That was very good. He soon found himself in the building's lobby. It was a plain, clean, white one which perfectly embodied the Foundation's sense of aesthetics.

  
  
Normally, that meant "make it all white and rip off a hospital," but it actually went quite well with this specific site's architecture.

  
  
He waved to the Site's recepcionist, Anthony. He was probably the only person who actually knew who Eight actually was. Anthony, sitting in his plain white chair, narrowed his eyes at him, clearly suspicious of his presence. Well, Eight couldn't blame him. He normally only arrived at around 12 o'clock.

  
  
Offering his hand to Anthony, he smiled widely. Anthony grit his teeth.

  
  
"Keycard." he said, clearly making an effort to stay polite.

  
  
Eight snickered and took his O5 keycard out of his pocket. Anthony stared at the card for a while, and stared at him with a very cold look. Eight knew that Anthony was holding a revolver right now. He always kept one behind his desk.

  
Anthony did not like imposters one bit. He placed the card in the scanner, staring deep into his eyes while the machine did its job.

  
  
It, after a while, simply made a little "beep" and clicked. The card had been accepted. Anthony looked into his eyes, still clearly suspicious. Eight offered his hand. Anthony shook it, and gestured towards another scanner in the desk. A biometric one.

  
  
He placed his hand in the scanner, and waited.

  
  
"How is your day going, Anthony?" said Eight, while the machine did its job.

  
  
"Good." answered the doorman, dryly.

  
  
The scanner made a buzzing sound, proving that he wasn't secretly an imposter. Well, that was a relief. What if he actually was an imposter? An imposter so amazingly talented at their job that they had managed to fool themselves and the entire Foundation. What if he was one?

  
  
Nah, the scanner proved otherwise.

  
  
"You can go. Move already, sir." said Anthony, placing his gun back in the place where it was hidden- taped below his desk.

  
  
Anthony made another gesture, and Eight walked away. Well, now he could be sure he wasn't an imposter.

  
  
After a while, he found himself in the elevator. He shrugged, and looked around. There wasn't anyone around. Eight pressed a button, and closed his eyes as the lift went up. A song begun to play. Eight opened his eyes and stared at the roof of the elevator.

  
  
"Eh, Stayin' Alive. Seriously?" the Overseer said to no one in particular.

  
  
He shook his head. He should really ask someone to change the song. It was annoying to listen to these three hobos singing, drunk on cheap helium, about staying alive. Hell, most people had no problems staying alive, it wasn't really that hard. The problem was to what depths you would sink in order to actually stay alive.

  
  
Not really people, yeah. There were a lot who couldn't. But a starving man could eat the flesh of others, and a thirsty man could drink blood.

  
  
Who knew?

  
  
The elevator stopped moving. With a hiss, the door opened. Floor 3.

  
  
Walking out of the small metallic container, O5-8 looked around for any wandering researchers. None. There wasn't anyone in here at this hour. Every researcher was working in their own, important projects. Security was watching over these projects.

  
  
Eight walked towards his office, a smile in his face.

  
  
Floor 3 was somewhat unimportant. That was why he had chosen it.

  
  
No one really bothered watching over this floor, as there wasn't anything of interest in it. It was a mundane storage. A warehouse, of sorts. Pens, pencils, paper, forms and stamps, printers, laptops and notebooks. Things like that.

  
  
Stuff that you needed to watch over, yes.

  
  
There were a few guards in here, but not as much as the anomalies had. Protecting horrifying artifacts of untold power was more important to watch over a stockpile of mundane shit. Most of these guards knew that they shouldn't mess with Eight.

  
  
Obviously, they didn't know that he was an Overseer. They just thought he was important, but not that much.

  
  
One of these guards, as O5-8 passed through him, looked into his eyes. He knew that his office was in this floor, and didn't really care. It made sense, after all. Some big guy would hide his office in the place everyone thought was unimportant. Genius.

  
  
"Hi there, doc." said the guard, waving at him.

  
  
Eight waved back.

  
  
A few minutes later, the Overseer was already in his office, preparing a little cup of tea for himself. He was a busy man, but he didn't have a whole pile of reports and proposals to read. Just a few ones. With a quiet sip of his pink tea, Eight put himself to work. This was a good day.

  
  
He would just delegate all of these to the rest of the site staff. But he would, just to be sure, skim through the higher-priority ones.

  
  
A small outbreak of 610 in Russia. Where did it happen?

  
  
Near the city of... Angarsk. The plague was still stuck in Russia. The original was always stuck in that little bubble around the river Angara, unless some flesh-cult assholes decided to spread it. An MTF had... requested permission to deal with the outbreak.

  
  
There was, in the city, a booming Broken God cult. They could manuver them to destroy the outbreak with almost no danger to the Masquerade, if they could trick the cogs into attacking them.

  
  
Yes, it would probably work.

  
  
Eight signed the proposal and placed it in the "approved" pile.

  
  
What else? A renegade magus, seemingly unnafiliated to any faction, had been brought into Foundation custody. He had tried to invade a site to search for... information on a project. Specifically, one of Eight's own blackboxed Overseer projects. He apparently wanted to use it to kill... oh, Aoko Aozaki.

  
  
Eight laughed. He had not seen such a ridiculous target for an assassin before.

  
  
Apparently, some little Association aristocrat had been flipped off by her, and paid the man to go get something to kill her. The man, then happened to stumble upon one of his own Overseer projects, that was being researched at that specific site.

  
Nevermind. The guys currently keeping him in a cell were asking for permission to use... "enhanced interrogation methods."

  
  
The hell? He wasn't the Ethics Committee. They should go ask that to them. They would probably deny it, but Overseers weren't responsible for that. Eight stared for a while at the proposal, and blinked, suddenly understanding the reason why he had asked. He smirked.

  
"Oh. That was why. They probably knew that. Trying to torture someone behind their backs, eh?" muttered him. He didn't like this.

  
  
He picked up a stamp and smashed it in the proposal.

  
  
"Denied." said O5-8. Served him right.

  
  
Signing his name on the proposal, he wrote two small notes in it. First, to send whoever had proposed torture to a therapist as soon as possible. Second, to amnesticize the little thief so he wouldn't remember a goddmaned thing about the project.

  
He would try to strengthen the site's security, anyway. Had the guy managed to break through the defenses? Uh... yes. Found a breach on the site's Bounded Fields, an area where, by some magical coincidence, two of them happened to cancel each other. It was hard sometimes. He could delegate this to someone else, but he felt better knowing what was happening around the world.

  
  
Specifically, what was happening to his own projects.

  
  
Now... the last proposal. Then he could go nap a bit in his comfy chair. He picked up the first page. He blinked.

  
  
"...What?" said him, as he skimmed through the standardized pages.

  
  
The Holy Grail War? Starting this year?

  
  
Damn, he had completely forgotten about that. It wasn't one of _his_ projects. but it _was_ a Level-4 one, connected to the whole damn council.

  
  
The damn war was just too much trouble. He always said it was a risky gamble, too dangerous... they should just shut the whole damn thing down and be done with it. That thing was a ridiculous idea from the start, but the council apparently had a reason to keep it going.

  
  
Some sort of reason, and Eight had no idea what it was.

  
  
What use did they even have for the wish? Large-scale reality alterations were always a bad idea. But there was a reason. Eight knew it. The way that the others spoke about it, the way the projects about it where made. There was a reason.

  
  
And Eight was the only one who didn't know that in the entire Council.

  
  
So. The Holy Grail War. The last one had been a disaster.

  
  
Who the hell thought using a product from _The Factory_ as a summon catalyst was a good idea? The Servant even fucking tried to make a new Factory, a "more efficient, flawless, perfectly automated masterpiece of engineering" in his own words.

  
  
Eight shuddered at the thought of such a thing. Increasing the Factory's efficiency, getting rid of its disasters, and making it _entirely automated?_ Their weaknesses were just that- their workers. The Factory needed workers.

  
  
The Foundation had managed to destroy more then one Factory assembly line by simply depriving them of workers. They were a machine of hunger. When they had no one to devour, they couldn't do anything, and were left weakened.

  
  
At least the Einzbern got their teeth kicked in, in the end. Their Grail stolen under their nose, any hope of reconquering the Third Magic gone. That was always a plus, on his book. Had anyone summoned the Servants yet?

  
  
Eight remembered. He remembered that lifeless husk of man, the man with the ridiculously long name full of German bullshit. The old man Acht. He remembered him staring at the Foundation soldiers after the new Factory had burned.

  
He would try again this time. He wouldn't summon a servant himself, probably. He would send one of his dolls to do the dirty work for him, the coward.

  
  
The Grail wasn't online yet, but people were always impatient.

  
  
Eight had to make a decision. The Foundation would probably send a candidate themselves. They had stacked the deck in their favor in every way imaginable for 60 whole damn years. But he didn't understand. Eight didn't know _why._

_  
  
It didn't make any sense._

  
  
Why was the rest of the Council trying to keep the War going? He didn't understand. There was a fucking _omnipotent wish_ involved. Why was that happening? And why didn't they tell him the reason? Why was a fucking Overseer kept in the dark.

  
  
They weren't supposed to be kept in the dark. They was supposed the be the guys who knew everything.

  
The fucking Overseer Council. You can't oversee if you don't even know what is even happening.

  
  
Eight needed to know. He had delayed this for far too long. He had, somehow, forgotten about this goddamned genie-machine, hidden right below his nose. He picked up the phone. He was certain they had some decent artifacts to use as catalysts. He was having some fun, if everything else failed. It wasn't as this Grail War would kill him, after all.

  
  
The Foundation would host a Grail War, yes. A Grail War was composed of Servants fighting each other. Typically seven. Saber, Archer, Lancer, Rider, Caster, Assassin and Berserker.

  
  
But no one said it _had_ to be like that. The two Edelfelt sisters, last war, had cheated. Pulled two little servants with their little Sorcery Trait and double Crest. If two little snooty magi could cheat, why couldn't he, an Overseer, not cheat a bit himself?

  
  
He would find out the truth in this.

  
  
"You've been hidden for a long time, Grail. I'll find out what's behind this." muttered O5-8, throwing the report back into the pile.

  
  
Whistling a rather creepy tune, Overseer Eight picked up his phone. He didn't need a lot to get in this war. A catalyst, a few troopers... it wouldn't be hard. He could play a bit with the ritual, even if he wasn't magus himself. After all, the Foundation had a whole damn division for that.

  
  
Time to make some calls.  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Kirei Kotomine completes a task.

**Chapter 1 - To Purify Evil  
  
 _Kirei Kotomine_**  
  
"You want to go in the suit?" the technician asked. "Are you sure?"  
  
The technician, at this moment, was pointing towards a sleek, metallic suit, whose grey fabric seemed to reflect light like it was a prism, creating a lot of pretty rays. If the room was a little more illuminated, the suit would likely be shining rainbows around the room.  
  
That was mostly a stylistic choice used in the suits while they weren't being used, but one would wonder why the artificers had added it at all.  
  
"Yes." Kirei said emotionlessly. "I need it."  
  
The technician, looked into his eyes with a curious look for a second, before nodding. He walked towards the reflective suit, and unplugged it from the cables it was connected to. It made a soft buzzing sound for an instant, and its color quickly shifted to a dull grey.  
  
Pulling a small metallic rectangle from his pocket, the technician deactivated the suit's safety lock-on, causing it to twitch slightly.  
  
"Well-" he said, seemingly confused. "I would go in a tank if I was you, but it's your choice."  
  
A few seconds after that, Kirei Kotomine was left alone in the room. He sighed and started to undress himself, revealing, below his black robes, a simple light blue, form-fitting full body suit. Standard gear for his job. The relief tubes were ready to be connected, shoulder straps and sleeves were all in their right places.  
  
Another few seconds after that, he stepped out of the room, already fully dressed in his Mark Three Malleus Counter Armor, also known as the Suit, MCA, or, as the Wolves referred to it, Crusader. A rather expensive one, in fact. The mechanical principles used to build it had been bought at a very high price from the Coalition.  
  
Coated with holy marks and sacraments,  
  
The technician, who had been waiting for him in the outside of the room, gave a whistle.  
  
"Looking good today, Kirei." he said, holding back laughter. "Al Fine must love you to sell us all of this."  
  
The suit had been equipped with some experimental Coalition technology, in fact. Mainly prana-resistant alloys and fabrics.  
  
"I doubt she even knows of my existance, Paul." answered Kirei. "She is the leader of the Coalition. I am a mere agent."  
  
Kirei shook his head. He didn't have time for things such as these. He was an agent. The technician shrugged. Kirei stared at the hallway. He had a mission to complete. The man handed him a report, a rather thick one.  
  
He walked away, his suit's patterns emitting a weak glow as he moved through the hallways of the Initiative's base.  
  
He flipped through the pages, quickly absorbing the information in them. Information on his target. Very, very important information.  
  
On his way out of the building, he placed his hand on of the report, and muttered a few words in a very special dead language. The words echoed through the fabric, setting the report in fire in matter of seconds.  
  
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Kirei waited for the report to burn, and continued on his way.  
  
Soon, he saw his father waving at him, next to a stationed helicopter. It would likely be the one that would take him to his mission. His father smiled at him in joy.  
  
Kirei was, as his father, a clergyman, Yet the duties of the father and son greatly differed from the ones of ordinary priests, as they were members of the Horizon Initiative. But these duties also differed between father and son.  
  
Risei Kotomine was a respected priest, and had belonged to the Shepherd Corps since he was 20.  
  
Shepherds would operate in pairs- though Risei's partner was currently not avaliable- often living deep undercover as civilians. Otherwise, they would operate as community leaders, studying the Texts, establishing relations with other groups, and would rarely undertake combat missions against hostile forces.  
  
Kirei, however, had been blessed with Magic Circuits, and as thus, had a given different function.  
  
He belonged to the Wolves. He was a member of Project Malleus.  
  
Combat forces. Originating from the Catholic Church's Executors, now extinct, Malleus served as the Initiative's true combat forces. Trusted to eliminate evil from the world, they fought all kinds of anomalies, from Dead Apostles to rogue magi.  
  
They were very different, but still father and son.  
  
"My son." Risei spoke.  
  
"Father." Kirei answered.  
  
Silently, Risei gave him a hug. After a few seconds of silence, Kirei hugged him back.  
  
"Your strength as one of the Wolves is great. _You_ will be great. I cannot see a world where you will fail." said his father. He then smiled again. "I'm proud of you."  
  
Kirei put on a smile, but he felt nothing.  
  
"Thank you." he said.  
  
He walked into the helicopter, and watched as his father became more and more distant, while he waved all the while. Risei Kotomine could be accused of many things, but never of not loving his son.  
  
It only made Kirei feel more empty in the end.  
  
Roughly thirty minutes and three hours after that, the young priest found himself flying above a forest.  
  
Not flying by himself, obviously. It wasn't a function of the suit, and likely would never be.  
  
It was a suit prioritizing resistance and durability _,_ after all. His chosen suit, a mix of machine and faith designed for Project Malleus. A suit that would allow one to witstand massive damage. A suit that protected him perfectly.  
  
He was flying in the helicopter, moving towards his target. A certain anomaly, hidden in this specific region. In this very specific forest. They were flying over said forest, an obscured island, hidden by the Veil.  
  
His enemy dwelled in this forest. He, according to his superiors, was a Scarlet King cultist.  
  
Oliver Rivers, born in the United States of America in 1960. Since he had joined the Children of the Scarlet King, he had proved himself to be a true monster. He had led a cell of the Children responsible for the brutal murders of fifty-nine women- all brutalized, raped and tortured repeatedly in a ritual to appease their god.  
  
The god of rape and murder.  
  
He had personally performed a very specific ritual seven times, killing seven women in each iteration in increasingly sadistic ways, in order to obtain anomalous powers for himself. The last ritual had finally worked.  
  
After he had succeeded, Oliver promptly ran away from his cult, living for three years in this forest as a hermit. No one knew why.  
  
Now, the Horizon Initiative had finally located him. Kirei had been sent to end his life. And perhaps, Kirei would obtain some sort of answer. Oliver Rivers was a man who had sunk to the lowest depths a human could ever sink.  
  
A true monster.  
  
Why had the man chosen this fate? It could help Kirei in understanding his own nature.  
  
Nevertheless, the higher ups had chosen him for a very specific mission, and this target was his test.  
  
He looked at the blades sitting next to him, his special ones given to him for his mission. Modified blades, Black Key design, coated with enough poison to make a Karcist have a heart attack and designed to, once they were buried in a target, suffer a process that fragmented their own edges a bit.  
  
That way, the blades would release a very large amount of very small shards of metal inside of the target's body, causing colossal amounts of damage.  
  
Unfortunately, as a direct consequence of that attribute, they were one-use, and he had not been given a large number of them.  
  
Fortunately, to supplement him and correct that weakness, he had been allowed the use of additional weapons to dispatch the cultist. A modified firearm, based on a Browning machine gun, suited for his suit, designed to be as damaging as possible.  
  
A simple pistol, whose bullets were so coated with holy sacraments that they visibly shone.  
  
According to his superiors, he would need all of these to get rid of his target.  
  
So, his enemy in this mission was said to be a regenerator, capable of healing from any wound in a matter of minutes. A rather dangerous opponent, but if they weren't enhanced, a trivial one. It was unlikely that they would send him after a weak enemy to test his worth, however.  
  
It would be counterproductive.  
  
As Kirei contemplated his mission, he heard a whistle. Turning his head towards the source of the sound, he saw the pilot of the helicopter, handing him a backpack. Said pilot, an elderly, pale man, smiled at him.  
  
"Here's your kit, boy. We're going down." he spoke weakly.  
  
The helicopter came closer and closer to the ground. The door of the metal flyer opened as they landed in a clearing. Kirei took the bag and walked out of the helicopter, then bowed respectfully to the man.  
  
"Thank you." he said, politely. The pilot snorted.  
  
"I'll come back for you, boy. Good luck on your mission." he answered, and shortly after, took flight once more.  
  
Kirei was left alone in the forest.  
  
He opened his backpack. An emergency phone, a bottle of holy water, and... a claw. A wolf claw. Clearly something given by his superiors. Kirei sighed and picked up his backpack.  
  
It was better to complete his mission as soon as possible.  
  
\----  
  
 ** _Oliver Rivers_**  
  
Oliver bit into a squirming rabbit with his rotten teeth. It twitched, blood oozing from the wound his blackened fangs had caused. Oliver sucked on it, ingesting the warm red liquid with desperation. The rabbit soon stopped moving.  
  
It didn't taste like anything.  
  
It turned cold as soon as it touched his tongue...  
  
Blood streamed down his chin as Oliver bit into the rabbit again, ripping another piece of flesh. It wriggled and squirmed.  
  
"Oh." he said. "It's still alive."  
  
He threw it on the ground. It struggled to breathe, with multiple chunks of flesh missing- it could not move anymore. It had no choice.  
  
Differently from Oliver, who was free. Worthless animal.  
  
The cultist giggled to himself and looked at the marks in his arms. Large, veiny patters, shifting and pulsating rythmically. They burned with a bright red color, not only in the metaphorical sense. They burned in his skin, as well.  
  
He looked at the animal. It made some disgusting noise, and Oliver's mouth distorted into a frown.  
  
He picked up a sharp stick next to him, and impaled the slave of nature. Then, he went back to watching his marks.  
  
They were torture, but he loved these marks. They were proof that he was free.  
  
Oliver had sacrificed so much to get them. He had done everything the demon told him to do. The red angel told him he would live forever. He had done everything the red angel told him to do.  
  
He had been young when he saw a glimpse of it. The King. The mighty King and his Court. Beautiful beings had spoke to him.  
  
They had spoke to him. He had to tell the others, to free them as well.  
  
But he had failed. His church had forgotten the ideals. The Children of the Scarlet King. They should have been free. Free from morality, free from mercy and compassion, free from these worthless shackles.  
  
He tried and tried to tell his faithful about this glorious freedom, but they wouldn't listen to him.  
  
At all. He hated them for their heresy. They had simply shackled themselves once more. Sunk into an addiction of flame and violence.  
  
The Scarlet King would devour them all. He knew it. He was the only one strong enough to be free. When the King rose in a sea of flames, he would devour them. The weaklings, the worthless masses. And he would be free.  
  
He would rise in the court, and become grand and mighty. He would rule over worlds and laugh.  
  
He would rise, and all of them would pay.  
  
Oliver stared at the sun, and laughed. They would all pay. He laughed and laughed, until he could barely breathe. Tears oculted his sight, and his nose was filled with snot. Disgusting and beautiful.  
  
He remembered his vision of the glorious future.  
  
There was mist everywhere. Red mist. Redder then Red, if you could believe it. Not a sound came from it. No screams, no roars, no laughter. A glorious devastation the King would bring forth on the world.  
  
And he- Oliver Rivers, Prince of the Scarlet King.  
  
Mighty. Courageous. He would lay waste to worlds, and the King would call him glorious. He would be one amongst many, one worthy of joining the King's Court. A glorious future awaited him.  
  
The King only favored the strong, the free. He had freed himself from all shackles, and now, he only needed to wait. Soon.  
  
Soon, the King would come to bring forth his glorious future. The future that Oliver deserved.  
  
Suddenly, Oliver heard footsteps. A sound. Someone was in his forest. He laughed again.  
  
"Come here!" he screamed. "I'm free. You aren't."  
  
The only answer was a knife flying towards him. Oliver didn't bother dodging. It buried itself in his torso. He felt nothing and laughed for the umpteenth time. Poking the wound curiously, he proceeded to remove the blade with his bare hands.  
  
It shattered, leaving shards all over his fingers and chest.  
  
Ugh, cheap little thing.  
  
He looked at the direction it had been thrown from. He waited. They would have to come. He wouldn't die from a mere knife. He was a future Prince of the Scarlet King! He was sure of it. He would kill them and prove his worth.  
  
Another knife flew towars him, and buried itself in his left eye. Oliver didn't bother removing it.  
  
Having located the source of these shattering knives, he lunged with another maniacal laugh. They would not escape him.  
  
He was met with a rather large gun, pointed straight at his face by a man in a metallic suit. It radiated energy, the little knight. Oliver's remaining eye narrowed. He could barely react before a single shot splattered his brains all over the floor.  
  
However, that was not his end.  
  
Oliver Rivers, wounded a mere second ago, was already healing. His skull was already rebuilding itself. Soon he would end his foe, in glorious carnage. He would make him suffer, and give him to the King to be devoured like the slave he was.  
  
It would be beautiful.  
  
As his eyes rebuilt themselves, Oliver saw the man, holding six of his shattering knives. Useless. He wouldn't harm him with _knives._  
  
Four of them buried themselves in his neck, spine and hands, throwing him off balance. He coughed blood, but couldn't move as well as he normally could. He gurgled. The knives shattered, spreading shards all over his body.  
  
He was suffering too much damage. He couldn't show weakness to the King.  
  
He had to do this. Muttering an unholy incantation, Oliver activated the spells inside his bones. His reflexes sped up massively, and he became a flash. Impossible to track. Impossible to defend against. Invincible.  
  
He lunged again, and punched his enemy in the face, shattering his helmet and sending him to the floor. Idiot had let his guard down, didn't he?  
  
"Die!" screamed Oliver, as he punched his enemy in the chest over and over.  
  
His hands bounced off the armor, but it would break one day. His hands would never break, he was immortal. He looked at his hands, and slid them all over his foe's face, leaving lines of blood in it.  
  
"I will never die. You will." he said hysterically, nearly screaming.  
  
He pointed his bloodied and torn middle finger at his foe... and... he didn't have a middle finger. It had been destroyed by the knife.  
  
He looked at his hands. The shards of metal over them were still there.  
  
"Why aren't they healing?" said Oliver, shocked.  
  
While he stared blankly at his hands, the poison already acting and slowing down his regeneration, Oliver didn't seem notice the pistol pointed at his head as he spoke these last words.  
  
\----  
  
 ** _Kirei Kotomine_**  
  
Some time had passed. Kirei's mission had been completed.  
  
He had handed over the cultist's unconscious body to his superiors. The poison had managed to incapacitate him, it seemed. They simply had to burn his body to a crisp to end him for once and for all. He had managed to complete the mission in a rather short time, though he had let his guard down at the end.  
  
The interrogation was a disappointment.  
  
Oliver was just a monster. He didn't have anything special, anything different. He had chosen this path. He was utterly delusional, believing that his cursed deity would transform him into a prince. Into some sort of god.  
  
He wasn't like him.  
  
Kirei sighed.  
  
He stood in front of the building they were interrogating the cultist in.  
  
Kirei heard footsteps. He turned his head, and saw his father. He was smiling widely, with another file in his hands.  
  
"You did well, Kirei." said Risei Kotomine. "They asked me to give you this."  
  
His father, then, handed him another file. A rather large one. Kirei took it.  
  
"Your mission. You will represent us in a very important event, Kirei." said he. "I will leave you alone, for now."  
  
Risei walked away, and his son stared at the file he had been given.  
  
Kirei opened the file. What was his mission?  
  
"The Holy Grail War." he muttered.  
  
Interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to rewrite my story. Hope it gets better.


End file.
